


kill for me

by dev0n



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Frank Castle, Dark Matt Murdock, M/M, Semi-Major Character Death(s), Top Matt Murdock, affirmative consent, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev0n/pseuds/dev0n
Summary: The day he witnesses Foggy Nelson's casket lowered into the ground is the day Matthew Michael Murdock dies.





	kill for me

**Author's Note:**

> this one has been sitting in my drafts for a couple months, since i was too lazy to finish the smut. i'm still not totally happy with it, but i doubt i'll come back to it again, so i'm just posting it as is. this was inspired in part by that one comic arc where foggy dies (but doesn't really) and frank helps matt bust out of prison, but only a tiny bit. the timeline is very ambiguous, if it fits into canon at all. unbeta'd, proofread by me.
> 
> heed the tags! obviously, foggy is dead. two other characters die violently, and somewhat graphically, with what might be considered mild torture beforehand. 
> 
> title from the song KILL4ME by marilyn manson.

The day he witnesses Foggy Nelson's casket lowered into the ground is the day Matthew Michael Murdock dies.

He is hollow and empty, barely exchanging any words with Mr. and Mrs. Nelson after the funeral before he's all but fleeing the scene. Funerals and graveyards have never done much for Matt, anyway. They're too cold and still, not a place to celebrate the life of someone as vibrant as Foggy had been.

"He loved you so much, Matthew," Mrs. Nelson had said tearfully as she embraced him. "I hope you know that."

Yes, Foggy had loved Matt. Enough to die for him. Enough to sacrifice a full life to keep Matt living and breathing for, what, maybe one more day? Matt comes to a stop when he reaches the person he'd sensed arrive late. He's been acutely aware of them observing the funeral in solemn silence. He knows that heartbeat. He'd know it anywhere.

"What the hell are you doing here, Castle?" Matt asks. He wants to be angry, and it's always easy to be angry at the Punisher.

Frank seems to understand this, though, and doesn't take the bait. He shrugs. "Paying my respects. Nelson was a good man." It's not a lie, but it's not the full truth. Matt waits. Frank sighs and reluctantly adds, "And... I guess I came to check up on you. See how you're holding up."

Frank Castle is hardly Matt's best friend in the world. The answer, which is completely honest, catches him off guard. Matt frowns. "I'm... Fine. I guess. I don't know, Frank, why do you care?"

"Because I know you, and I know I've been here before. I know Nelson was your family. And I don't want this to be ─ to be that 'one bad day' for you, you know?" Frank licks his lips and looks away. "Matt," (Matt tries to recall another time Frank has ever called him by his first name. He can't.) "I know I tried to make you do it before. But I really... I don't wanna see you go down that path."

There are a lot of things Matt can say to that. He can get angry, he can brush Frank off, he can pretend he really is fine. He can continue to insist that he'll never cross that line.

The thing is, though, that Matt has already made up his mind. There is no line anymore. There is nothing holding Matt back from becoming the killing machine Stick always wanted him to be.

"Meet me tonight at 52nd and 9th," Matt says instead, voice demanding and cold. "Show up, or leave town. If you're not with me, you're against me, and if you're against me, you're dead."

Matt wishes dearly that he could see Frank's expression as he walks away.

×××

"What about, uh... Cage, Temple, Rand, Jones?" Frank asks in lieu of greeting Matt, boots crunching in the gravel atop the roof.

"Coworkers, at best. Same as you and I," Matt says a few seconds late, straightening and turning to face Frank. He's changed his uniform, Frank realizes. The lenses of his mask are still red, and the accessory belt and holster are red, but the rest of his uniform is all black. "You came. Good."

"I came," Frank agrees, but this whole thing is making him uneasy. Matt's clearly torn up about Foggy, to say the absolute least, but... "Now, why am I here?"

"Murderers, rapists, abusers, dealers, pimps -- you want them gone. I want them gone. But I need intel first. I don't want to kill them myself. Not tonight." Matt holds up a hand before Frank can interrupt him. "I need to find out where Wilson Fisk is, and then I'm going to kill him. If I can help it, he'll be my first. That's why I need you. Can you do that for me?"

"Red, are you sure you wanna do this?" Frank asks uneasily. "I know how you feel right now, but Nelson --"

Matt is across the roof in a fraction of a second. He pins Frank to the ground with a hand around his throat. "Don't. Don't bring him up ever again, Castle. I won't tell you twice." Then he's back on his feet, yanking Frank up with him. Frank decides not to fight back this time, because. Well. Maybe he deserved it. "Are you coming or not?"

Frank looks at him carefully. If he doesn't go along, this is going to be a suicide mission, and they both know it. Frank sighs and grabs his duffel bag, hefting it over his shoulder. "Lead the way," he says, and he almost tacks 'altar boy' onto the end, but that's not exactly accurate anymore, is it?

×××

Fisk isn't hiding anymore, really, so it doesn't take much to find his private penthouse apartment. Frank works like he usually would, but it's jarring not to have Matt reprimanding him for each kill shot. Matt himself is particularly vicious tonight, and Frank wouldn't be surprised if several of his victims end up in the morgue by the end of the night.

The building has tight security, but between the two of them, it's not actually all that hard to make it upstairs. After all, who would be dumb enough to go after the Kingpin?

"You get to Vanessa," Matt says as they enter the stairwell. "Don't kill her, just hold her. I changed my mind. She's first."

Frank grunts and nods once. He's always been good at following orders, but that doesn't mean he enjoys it. Still, it's been strangely easy to take them from Matt tonight. Something has shifted in their dynamic, and it's making Frank almost as uneasy as this new Matt is.

Matt stops Frank just as they're stepping out of the elevator on the final level. He leans in closer, reaches around Frank's waist; Frank can feel his body heat, the only evidence so far tonight that the man before him is still, indeed, human. Matt smells of Kevlar and sweat and blood, with the faintest hint of gunpowder.

Then Matt is pulling away with something in his hand. Frank realises it's one of his smaller pistols. He frowns. "Can you even─?"

"Well enough," Matt interrupts, voice clipped. Frank recognizes that tone. Matt is trying very hard not to betray any emotion.

Frank wishes there was something he could say, but there isn't, so he just nods and gestures toward the door, twin pistols at the ready.

"After you."

×××

Getting through the final level of Fisk's security is almost disappointingly simple. Frank takes a bullet or two to the vest and Matt gets a graze across his arm that'll need stitching up, but aside from that -- the Devil really _is_ in Matt Murdock tonight. Frank has never seen him this worked up, never seen him so _brutal._ If some of that imagery gets tucked away in his brain for when next he has alone time, well, Frank's going to ignore whatever implications that has about his psyche. He shoots down one last grunt, reloads, and stands at Matt's shoulder as he finally opens the double doors to Fisk's apartment.

"Daredevil!" Fisk greets jubilantly. His eyes flicker over Matt's shoulder to Frank, then briefly take in Matt's appearance. "Well, that's an interesting costume change. And an interesting choice of friends." Someone comes down the hall, ready to fire. Frank shoots them square in the forehead and goes in the direction from which they came. Fisk watches him, seeming conflicted, but he returns his attention to Matt.

"I don't recall having done anything worthy of your attention lately," Fisk hums, clasping his hands together. "What could you possibly be here for?"

Matt ignores the question. He tilts his head slightly toward the hallway. Frank has the girl. Frank zipties Vanessa's hands behind her and walks her down the hall with a gun to her head. Fisk freezes at the sight of them.

"Vanessa, you were supposed to be─"

"I know. I'm sorry," she says softly, sounding far too composed for a woman in her position. It's funny. Matt almost might have liked her, in another life.

Fisk starts toward Frank, but he cocks back the hammer of his gun and holds it to Vanessa's temple. "Careful, big guy."

Matt takes a few steps closer to Fisk. "Franklin Nelson," he says simply. He sounds calm, but Frank can practically feel the rage coming off of him in waves. It's chilling. _It's beautiful._

"Nelson? Ah, yes. One half of the duo that sent me to prison. What of him?" Fisk smiles. It's tremulous. His bravado is faltering.

"He's dead."

"How unfortunate." It's difficult for Matt to read expressions, but he's pretty sure the one on Fisk's face right now is mocking.

"Murdered."

"A pity. Are we going somewhere with this, Devil?"

"Cut the shit. You know who I am."

"Do I?"

"Frank. Start with the knees." It takes half a second for Frank to catch on, but then he wastes no time in shooting Vanessa in her left knee. She cries out and crumples to the ground. Frank's stomach churns as he kneels beside her, gun to her head once again. Why is he still doing this?

"What are you doing to her?!" Fisk shouts, but he doesn't move. "She has nothing to do with this, Murdock! Let her go. Let her go, and we'll talk."

"So you do know my name. Good. Sit down, Wilson." Fisk hesitates, but he sees Vanessa laying on the ground, bleeding, and complies.

"What do you want from me? Just let me take care of─"

"Shut up," Matt snarls, wrenching off his helmet. His unseeing eyes seem to bore holes into Fisk's skull. "You arranged Foggy's kidnapping. You authorized the kill order. Say it."

"I did no such thing," Fisk blatantly lies.

It's the wrong answer. Matt takes the gun off his hip and aims it at Fisk. As he watches, feeling strangely disconnected from his own body, Frank wonders who taught him to hold it correctly.

"Frank, the other one."

"Red─"

"Do it."

Frank swallows hard, then shoots Vanessa again. She cries out in pain, and Fisk shouts, utterly powerless for the first time since he was a child.

"Stop! I did it, alright?! I gave the orders to kidnap Franklin Nelson, I authorized his death, just let her go--" It's not a lie. That's all Matt needs to hear. Lightning quick, he changes his aim and shoots Vanessa right in the center of her forehead. Frank can't help but flinch; he certainly doesn't doubt Matt's skill with hand-to-hand combat, but he's still wary of just how well Matt can aim a gun.

 _ **"No!"**_ Fisk shouts, jumping to his feet.

"Frank. Kneecaps." Matt says calmly.

The Kingpin of New York is brought to his knees quite easily before Daredevil and the Punisher. Frank abandons Vanessa's lifeless corpse and comes to stand a few steps behind Matt.

"You ─ you don't ─ you never ─ why?!" Fisk whispers. There are tears streaming down his face. Matt smiles. Unwillingly, Frank shivers.

"Because you deserve it," Matt says softly. He presses the barrel of the gun to Fisk's forehead. Fisk starts to lift his hands, try and fend him off despite the state of his legs, but Matt pulls the trigger before he gets a chance.

Honestly, it's quite anticlimactic.

Matt wipes blood from his face as Frank looks around the apartment. See if you can access his bank accounts," Matt says, pulling his mask back on. "Transfer all you can to these numbers." He reaches into a pouch on his belt and passes Frank a piece of paper.

Frank looks down at it, brow furrowed. "Why─?"

"Taking dirty money from these assholes and donating it to good charities helps more than beating up drug dealers in dark alleys ever will. Fisk is loaded; he could help the city a lot. Now hurry."

It's pretty solid reasoning, now that Frank thinks about it. Matt goes off to do ─ something, leaving Frank to dig through Fisk's computer. He's learned a few tricks from Microchip; it doesn't take too long. There are an awful lot of zeros in Matt's accounts by the time Frank is finished.

All of this still feels wrong on so many levels. Frank is honestly almost _afraid_ of Matt right now. He's never seen him so unhinged, so cold and brutal. Frank is no stranger to torture; what he'd done to Vanessa Fisk wouldn't have bothered him under most circumstances. What had really bothered him was the fact that _Matt_ was the one who gave the order.

Matt has a big bag full of what Frank suspects is cash when they meet again in the foyer. They both consider the two dead bodies for a few long seconds. Then, quite suddenly, Matt stomps on Fisk's head. Two more tries and it smashes, splattering brain matter and slivers of bone everywhere. Frank grimaces. Matt says nothing, turning around and heading back to the elevator. With each step, he leaves a single bloody footprint behind.

×××

"Can I stay the night with you?" Matt asks suddenly, once they've made it safely out of the building.

Frank hesitates, looking over at him. There's something in Matt's voice now that's not quite as inhumanly cold as it had been before, and Frank sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and inadvertently smearing blood across his cheek.

"Yeah. Yeah, alright, why the fuck not?" Frank nods toward an alley. "C'mon."

He leads Matt through back alleys and over rooftops toward his nearest safehouse. The city is almost eerily quiet, and it's easy to imagine that the criminals of the underworld already know exactly what has occured tonight. As they reach the abandoned building Frank has been squatting in, Frank wonders if he should bother relocating after bringing Matt here. He probably won't need to, he thinks. Not for the first time that night, the thought makes something in his gut twist.

"Thank you, Frank," Matt says, setting the bag by the door. He takes off his boots there, too, which Frank appreciates; he'd rather not have blood tracked all over the floor. Matt's mask is the first thing to follow, which he sets gently in an empty space on Frank's workbench. He puts the borrowed gun there, too, sliding it over to join the other weapons Frank is removing from various holsters and hiding places on his person.

"Keep it," Frank says gruffly. Matt pauses, then shrugs and slides it back toward himself.

"Thank you for your help. And for letting me stay. Tonight was..." Matt trails off and removes his gloves.

"Therapeutic?" Frank suggests (hopes).

"Yes." Pause. "But not enough."

Frank's heart sinks.

"You don't wanna be like this, Matt." He can't help trying again, at least one more time.

Matt sighs and turns his head toward Frank. "You know, you never make any fucking sense," he snaps. "You wanted me to do this. You tried to _force_ me to do this."

"And I was wrong, Matt, alright? Fuck." Frank takes off his vest and hangs it over the back of a chair. He rubs his hands over his face and sighs. "Listen, it's been a long day and a long night. I'm not doing this right now. I only have the one bed, so you're gonna have to suck it up and share."

Matt mutters something under his breath that Frank doesn't quite catch. He decides he's too tired to ask.

"I need to shower. I'm covered in blood, since you don't know how to give a man a goddamn warning before spraying brains all over him."

"Sorry," Matt says, sounding utterly unapologetic. "I'll wait. I need to shower, too." But he's already stripping out of the top half of his uniform. Frank swallows and forces himself to look away. He goes over to duffel bag in which he keeps a few changes of clothing. Frank grabs two shirts and two pairs of sweatpants, dropping one of each onto the chair he's just vacated. "Here." Matt murmurs his thanks, leaning against the workbench quietly.

Frank heads for the makeshift bathroom, which is really just a shower stall and a toilet in one corner, separated from the rest of the room only by a shower curtain. He strips, ignoring the strange sense that Matt is... Watching him, somehow, the same way he _'sees'_ things well enough to be Daredevil. Frank shakes it off as paranoia and starts the shower, standing under the spray and relaxing minutely as he feels the blood and sweat and grime wash away down the drain. He closes his eyes and bites back a relieved sigh, keenly aware that Matt can probably hear everything from the other side of the curtain. Frank still can't believe he's trusting Matt enough to let him in here. But the way Matt is right now... He's unstable, and though he's loathe to admit it, Frank cares about Matt Murdock. A little bit. Maybe.

He's jarred from his thoughts by the feeling of another body stepping under the spray of the shower. Frank flinches and turns around. "Jesus Christ, Red, what happened to waiting?" he asks, heart hammering in his chest. Frank hates being caught off guard.

Matt shrugs, tilting his head. There's a smirk tugging at his lips. "I got bored," he replies easily. He rests a hand against Frank's chest, then slides it up until it's around the base of Frank's throat. "I could kill you right now," he says conversationally as Frank's hand wraps tightly around his wrist. Frank doesn't try to tug it away from his throat just yet, though. "You _are_ a criminal. A mass murderer."

"And what exactly is stopping you?" Frank asks, scowling down at Matt. He tries not to betray his unease. The feeling hasn't left him since the funeral. Is this even Matt Murdock anymore?

"The hypocrisy of it," Matt responds, and shrugs again. "You were right. You've always been right. We're the same. And now we're _completely_ the same. I crossed the line. No going back." The hand slides up from Frank's throat to curl around his jaw. Frank's grip on Matt's wrist loosens. Matt says, "I want to fuck you."

Frank can feel his cheeks burning red, and judging by Matt's smug expression, so can he. "Where the fuck did that come from?" he demands. "Red, you're not thinking straight."

"No, I'm not," Matt agrees, deadpan, and Frank can't help rolling his eyes. Matt continues, "I'm done denying myself of the things I want because of some misplaced faith in a God who clearly doesn't give a shit about the world." Now both of his hands are on Frank's chest, sliding down to his hips. "You can say no."

"I know I can," Frank replies. But honestly? He doesn't want to. The past twenty-four hours have been really fucking strange, and he's done questioning it. It's too late now, anyway. Matt wanted to fuck up his life, and he did. Matt might just be one of the only people who really, _truly_ understands Frank now.

Didn't they say the Devil had been the most beautiful of God's angels before he fell?

Matt doesn't let the non-answer function as a 'yes', though. He still waits, head tilted slightly to the side. Frank growls irritably, grabbing a handful of Matt's hair and yanking him forward into a crushing kiss. Matt returns it with equally brutal force, pushing Frank back against the shower wall. "Use your words, Frank," he pants, biting and licking along Frank's jaw.

" _Yes,_ damn you," Frank hisses, pulling at Matt's hair. "But first, I'm washing the goddamn blood out of my hair, and so are you."

"Mood killer," Matt half-laughs, but he doesn't disagree. The shower is completed quickly, brief kisses or teasing pinches and slaps snuck in here and there. They just barely towel off, and then Matt is practically dragging Frank over to the mattress on the floor that serves as his bed. Matt shoves Frank down onto it and straddles his waist. He wraps a hand around Frank's half-hard cock and starts to stroke, using his free hand to explore Frank's chest. Somehow, Matt must know where the bruises are on Frank's body, because he presses his fingertips into one. Frank curses and his cock twitches, and Matt's smirk returns to his face once again.

"Shut up and fuck me," Frank mutters.

"I haven't said anything in ten minutes, Frank," Matt says, but his tone is still unbearably smug. Frank swats at his thigh. "Do you even have lube?"

"Yes," Frank says irritably, with as much dignity as he can muster. He hasn't had sex since ─ well. But he still has urges, and besides, there are plenty of uses for lubricant beyond the obvious. Frank sits up a little and reaches under the mattress, which seems to amuse Matt. "Shut _up,_ " Frank repeats, once more with feeling, and Matt just smirks and shakes his head, taking the bottle from Frank once he retrieves it.

Matt's not gentle or slow with his preparations, but that's fine; Frank didn't expect him to be. Perhaps before all of this, whatever _this_ is, Matt might have been a gentle lover; but that's not what either of them wants right now. Frank isn't sure he could handle slow and sweet again, not now. Maybe not ever.

So he lets Matt fuck him hard and fast with his fingers, rocks down against them as he stretches his hole. Frank is quiet at first save for his harsh breathing, but then Matt's fingers find his prostate and Frank can't help letting out a choked off groan. With his unoccupied hand, Matt digs his fingers into a bruise on Frank's thigh and presses into his prostate again, and this time Frank's moan is louder. To hell with it, he thinks. It's not as if anyone is around to hear.

Matt finishes soon enough, but that's when both of them seem to realize neither of them has a condom handy. Frank mutters a curse under his breath and looks up at Matt. "I haven't had sex since..." He trails off, looking uncomfortable. This isn't a conversation he wants to be having right now. Or ever. "If you're clean, then I don't care."

"I am," Matt says after a moment. He doesn't ask for another affirmation, just motions for Frank to roll over onto his front.

Just as he's done all night, Frank obeys, settling onto his knees and forearms before Matt. It should be humiliating, and it sort of is, but somehow that just makes it that much more of a turn-on. Frank hears Matt slick himself with lube, and a moment later, he feels the blunt press of Matt's cockhead against his stretched hole. Frank forces himself to relax as Matt slowly pushes in; his head drops down into his arms and he breathes out a curse. Matt isn't slow in this, either, but he's careful, almost seeming to know intuitively just how far he can go before the discomfort becomes too much.

Matt was thorough with preparing Frank, though, and it's not long before he sets a shallow, fast pace. Frank rocks back against each thrust, breath coming out in quiet grunts. "C'mon," he says impatiently, pushing back against Matt's dick particularly hard, "I can take it, _fuck_ me─"

Matt doesn't need to be told twice. The next thrust is hard and deep, and Frank's words taper off into a loud moan. After that, Matt fucks him mercilessly. He tangles one hand in Frank's too-long hair and _yanks_ , while the other hand holds onto his hip, fingertips pressing harshly into a bruise there. Frank stops trying to hold back his noises, but Matt is unsettlingly quiet. His breathing is labored, but the only sounds he makes are occasional soft grunts.

Eventually, Frank wraps a hand around his cock and starts to stroke himself. He comes first, muffling a half-sob, half-shout against his forearm as he spills across his fingers and the sheets. Matt doesn't stop fucking him through it, and the sensation is far too much when he feels Matt's cock hit his prostate again. Frank makes a noise that embarrassingly similar to a whine, wanting to shove Matt away just as much as he wants to pull him closer.

"Frank," Matt breathes out a minute or so later. Both hands are holding onto Frank's hips now, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He starts to pull out, but on a whim, Frank reaches behind him and yanks Matt back forward.

"No. I ─ come inside me," he mutters, embarrassed even as he speaks, but luckily, Matt doesn't mock him. If anything, it seems to turn Matt on more. Matt curses, thrusting one, two, three more times before he's coming with a chokes groan. Frank whines again, slumping down onto the mattress. Matt slumps with him, barely holding himself up over Frank as he comes down from his orgasm.

He pulls out slowly, and Frank grimaces at the feeling. Perhaps asking Matt to come inside him had been a bad idea. He's sticky and sore, and he's pretty sure he's still bleeding in a few places, and now he needs _another_ shower ─ but as Frank's brain comes back online, he's more worried about Matt than he is about himself.

"Hey, Red─"

"I'm tired," Matt interrupts. Frank rolls over to look at him. He can't read Matt's expression. "Can we just..."

"Yeah," Frank sighs. He runs his hands over his chest. Though a few spots are still sticky with blood, nothing seems to need stitches, and he's sure he'll survive a few hours without bandaging them. It's irresponsible, sure, but he's exhausted and confused and perhaps a bit concerned. Matt lays down beside Frank and reaches for the blanket, pulling it up over both of them. The light is still on, but Frank doesn't really care, and it obviously isn't bothering Matt. Frank makes sure the gun beside the mattress is still loaded, then lays on his side facing Matt.

Frank wants to say something, but he knows Matt doesn't want to talk, and he doesn't know what he'd say, anyway. He can't quite bring himself to reach out to touch Matt, either, and eventually he rolls to face the other way, staring at the concrete wall until he, apparently, falls asleep.

×××

When Frank wakes up in the morning, Matt is gone. The bag of cash is still in the corner, but aside from that, the only other sign that Matt was ever here is the soreness in Frank's ass and the dried cum on his skin. Frank lays in bed for a few moments, trying to process the previous evening. But the attempt is futile, and finally he just sighs, dragging himself out of bed and into the shower.


End file.
